It’s what they canna understan’
That brains hae ruled since time began,
An’ that the beadle is the man!

THE WATER-HEN

As I gae’d doon by the twa mill dams i’
the mornin’
The water-hen cam’ oot like a passin’
wraith
And her voice cam’ through the reeds wi’
a sound of warnin’,
“Faith—­keep
faith!”
“Aye, bird, tho’ ye see but ane ye may
cry on baith!”

As I gae’d doon the field when the dew was lyin’,
My ain love stood whaur the road an’ the mill-lade
met,
An it seemed to me that the rowin’ wheel was
cryin’,
“Forgi’e—­forget,
An turn, man, turn, for ye ken that ye lo’e
her yet!”

As I gae’d doon the road ‘twas a weary
meetin’,
For the ill words said yest’re’en they
were aye the same,
And my het he’rt drouned the wheel wi’
its heavy beatin’.
“Lass, think shame,
It’s no for me to speak, for it’s you
to blame!”

As I gae’d doon by the toon when the day was
springin’
The Baltic brigs lay thick by the soundin’ quay
And the riggin’ hummed wi’ the sang that
the wind was singin’,
“Free—­gang
free,
For there’s mony a load on shore may be skailed
at sea!”

* * * * * *

When I cam’ hame wi’ the thrang o’
the years ’ahint me
There was naucht to see for the weeds and the lade
in spate,
But the water-hen by the dams she seemed aye to mind
me,
Cryin’ “Hope—­wait!”
“Aye, bird, but my een grow dim, an’ it’s
late—­late!”